


force majeure

by Mother_North



Series: The F1 series [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Emotional, First Kiss, Flashbacks, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: Not everything can be calculated.
Relationships: Alain Prost/Ayrton Senna
Series: The F1 series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007253
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	force majeure

**Author's Note:**

> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and it is not meant to offend anyone. It is a product of author’s imagination only. All thoughts, actions and emotions described below have nothing to do with reality.

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To tell the truth, Alain is tired, a mild headache kicking in. It’s already four and a half hours into the agitated discussion with the team mechanics in the motorhome and Ayrton _still_ has questions. Of course, Alain will not be the first to say ‘good-bye’ and leave for good. He will not be the first to go to his hotel room, not before Ayrton. Ron seems as enthusiastic as Ayrton, though, his work ethics of an obsessive perfectionist and workaholic finally matching that of someone else’s.

It’s absolutely fascinating to watch Ayrton during moments like these; his intensity and single-mindedness, the sharpness of his mind, as he is absorbing all of the available information like a sponge.

“What do you think of it?” There’s a challenge sparkling in Ayrton’s stormy eyes.

Alain pinches the bridge of his nose in a moment of contemplation before saying:

“I think this approach is too risky, Ayrton. Yes, you can win some of the milliseconds for sure, but it’s not something to put the whole race at stake for. Of course, it’s only my opinion and you are free to disagree…”

“I knew you’d come up with something like this! I am speaking of a _calculated_ risk, not about anything that goes beyond reasonable. I just want to win and I am sure the whole team does. We’ve been talking about the team strategy and how it is important for us to work as one team and…”

Alain raises his eyebrows, genuinely perplexed.

“And it’s you who is saying this to me, among all people?! Like, seriously, Ayrton..? Isn’t it a little hypocritical after your recent move on me during the…”

Ayrton’s face suddenly goes pale.

Ron gets up from his place abruptly, waving his hand dismissively.

“Please, guys…I think it is enough for today. It’s already late and we all need a break. Let’s better continue tomorrow. There’s still enough time before the actual race and besides you need to be fresh as a cucumber for the upcoming qualifying session.”

Alain sighs in relief; he really isn’t in a mood for more arguing. Ayrton is stubborn and opinionated, seemingly always sure that his vision _is_ the right vision. At times, it makes Alain’s blood boil, but he still tries his best not let Ayrton’s impulsiveness and temperament get to him. He opts for maintaining a cool façade and then Ayrton’s responds with Arctic coldness in his turn, his expression brooding and eyes dark and impenetrable. He is really a complicated person and it’s easier to outqualify him by half of a second than to see what exactly is going on in that head of his at a given moment.

Strangely enough, but Alain remembers the first time he laid his eyes upon Ayrton as if it were just yesterday.

_Nurburgring, Germany, 1984, the opening of the renewed race track._ The organizers of the event decided to make a show worthy of the status of the legendary autodrome and a subsequent sensational win of then largely unknown young racer from Brazil upset their applecart. The participants of the race of the champions were unsurprisingly… renowned champions of past and present, a constellation of motor racing stars of the highest caliber brought together for the occasion.

Alain smiles wistfully to his recollections. Who would have thought that some four years later Ayrton would become his teammate in one of the leading formula-1 racing teams..? In fact, it was he himself who had proposed to take onboard a prodigious young talent instead of an older and a more experienced another Brazilian racer Nelson Piquet.

The weather on that day was nasty, gloomy overcast sky and a chilling drizzle. Alain was asked by the organizers to grab Ayrton at the local airport by his car and to get him to the racing circuit. It wasn’t much of a task and so he unhesitatingly agreed.

The new acquaintance turned out to be at least ten centimeters taller. He had strong features and looked thin lanky, his puffy coat seeming a bit oversized. They shook hands and Ayrton’s broad palm was distinctly cold to the touch. It crossed Alain’s mind that the Brazilian probably wasn’t too fond of the biting wind and humidity that pierced one’s bones.

“Well, let’s get inside! It’s positively freezing!”

After initial greetings were exchanged, they have got into Alain’s car. The time of their drive to the Nurburgring flew by; a few stolen glances here and there and a small-talk being their only companions. Alain remembers driving uncharacteristically fast on the highway. Perhaps it was his unsophisticated way of giving an impression, although, he wasn’t reckless by any means.

He immediately sensed Ayrton going tense at his side.

“Isn’t it a bit… too fast?”

The corners of Alain’s thin lips turned upwards.

“I thought you liked speed,” he quipped.

“Well, of course I do, but…”

Alain grinned and the tips of Ayrton’s ears flared from embarrassment. He wasn’t particularly fond of being subjected to jokes, especially from strangers. It was his contemplative and serious nature that often had the upper hand. Social interactions not necessarily came easily to him – he needed time to open up and to warm towards people. Taking things with utmost intention, analyzing the subtlest of subtexts and nuances in facial expressions and demeanor was something that Ayrton did on regular basis and Alain was not an exception, as he was trying to read him. Naturally, Ayrton saw him as one of his major rivals in the foreseeable future.

Needless to say, that Alain’s skills behind the steering wheel were excellent, he was fast and smooth, but it struck Ayrton that he was undoubtedly trying to impress him: his overtaking maneuvers slightly riskier than to be expected and the speed being on the very limit of legal.

He had to come up with something witty to reply soon, not to make a pause after Alain’s good-natured quip drag awkwardly. 

“You’ll see for yourself on a racing track,” he said.

“We’ll see,” smiled Alain, amused.

Ayrton won that day showing his remarkable abilities of driving in the wet. He seemed to squeeze everything and then some out of his warm-beige Mercedes 190E car. Alain had an opportunity to witness Ayrton’s fierce competitiveness firsthand. It looked as though not all of the participants were at first going to take the race seriously, but the possessiveness with which Senna da Silva was driving seemed to fire up everyone, including Niki.

“The little fucker,” he muttered under his breath.

“That’s a way to put your name on everyone’s radar,” noted Alain.

Later, he had to acknowledge that Ayrton had done it in his typical manner.

“One word: _stellar_ ,” thought Alain.

“Congratulations,” he said aloud, and that time, Ayrton’s hand seemed considerably warmer to the touch, as was his striking smile that reached his eyes.

Alain is already inside his car when, all of a sudden, Ayrton slips into a front seat next to him. The door is closed with an obnoxiously loud bang.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated.

“Listen, Ayrton, I feel really tired right now and I have zero desire to continue arguing with you! Even if our points of view on certain subjects do not coincide, it doesn’t mean that I am against you. You are free to do with your car whatever you want and of course your strategy is something only you alone can have responsibility for…”

“Alain, you don’t understand my point…”

“Your actions are your actions, Ayrton, but, please, take into your consideration that I don’t want to be involved in any recklessness and my main concern is to avoid all of the unnecessary risk as long as possible. I agree that racing itself is a huge risk, but I am just not ready of risking my life for the sake of winning…I am not you, you know…”

Ayrton’s jaw tightens and there’s a wildfire raging in his dilated pupils, which makes his eyes look practically pitch-black.

“I repeat: you don’t understand. Don’t understand me, Alain! When I came into McLaren I saw you as the best in the world, the biggest challenge, my nemesis, my archrival…I wanted to outperform you and to win over you and, God is my witness, I still do. _Badly_ …”

Ayrton takes a deep breath before going on with a passionate little tirade of his.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Alain, or anyone for that matter. I don’t want to put you or anyone in danger by my actions on the racing track. I can feel fear too, just like everybody, and I think it’s natural and vital in order not to overstep the limit. It’s that sometimes I sense that my limit is different than that of the others – it’s a bit _further_ … It’s hard to explain, Alain, to find the right words…”

Alain’s knuckles on the steering wheel turn white. He is taken aback by the straightforwardness of Ayrton’s words, the sincerity of his admission, by his willingness to share; still there’s a lot more he is willing to find out. He chooses to be candid as well.

“It’s just that sometimes your will to win is plain frightening…but I can understand where it stems from. After all, we do compete against each other and, of course, I want to win races too. I am not going to lie – at times I can’t quite grasp the ruthlessness with which you drive. It can…end badly one day, Ayrton. I’ve always tried to rely on my brain and you seem to drive with your raw instinct, pure feeling…”

In a blink of an eye, Ayrton leans over Alain, his hot breath now ghosting over his lips. Alain looks slightly startled by the sudden invasion of his private space. He blinks rapidly.

“Not everything can be calculated, Alain,” says Ayrton in a disturbingly husky voice. His mouth is so close and dark eyes so _abysmal_ that Alain’s breath catches in his throat.

He doesn’t make a sound when the distance between their mouths disappears. On the spur of the moment he reciprocates, opening up into the kiss and a first, tentative touch of the tip of Ayrton’s tongue against his lower lip makes him tremble.

It’s intoxicating and sweet, and illicit, and… it is over way too soon.

Ayrton avoids looking him directly in the eye at all costs.

“See you tomorrow,” he mumbles, eyebrows knit, before getting out of the car swiftly.

Alain licks his lips, tasting spicy vanilla and sunshine. He is completely at a loss and doesn’t say a thing.

On that weekend they race in Detroit and the notoriously demanding street circuit drains nearly all life juices out of Alain. He is exhausted, after having managed coming second, with Thierry Boutsen taking the third place. Ayrton is beaming at the top of the podium, his smile beatific. There’s a powerful feeling of undiluted joy emanating from him and Alain absentmindedly thinks to himself that Ayrton is impossibly attractive.

There’s one particular thing he desires the most at the moment, and it’s to taste champagne from Ayrton’s lips.

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End file.
